


The Trickster Returns

by Pyreite



Series: To Fall and Rise [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Magic, Post-Dragon Age Inquisition, Post-Trespasser DLC, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreite/pseuds/Pyreite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post-DA:I]  Sequel to <span class="u"><b>'Not For Me'</b></span>.</p><p>Cole returns to the Virvhenas - The Way Home, which Solas built for Ellana.  He shares an illuminating conversation with the Lord of the Estate.</p><p>New Version - Edited and Updated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trickster Returns

Cole stepped through the Eluvian into the quiet halls of the Virvhenas. Its white walls, carved by magic from living stone, reflected the fire from the roots of the mountains. Solas had sourced only the best materials for the estate he'd planned to share with Ellana. Her rejection of his proposal had changed a great many things. The home he'd built for her, out of stone, steel, and glass, had become a sanctuary instead for the world-weary and hurting.

 

Many elves, like Ellana, hadn't found their place in Solas's new world.

 

The Virvhenas, The Way Home, was a safe harbour.

 

Cole idly ran his fingertips over the wall before him. It was slick to the touch, wet like water, but dry like sand. He liked the pattern in the stone. Grey whorls and blotches, and slashes of brown and black undulated in pleasing waves across an ivory sea. Cole was reminded of the changing coats of the Halla from winter to spring.

 

The stags and does were always shaggier in the colder months. Their fur far longer, thicker, and several shades darker than the pale silkiness that graced their flanks during the moulting season. Cole knew, without asking, why Solas had chosen this particular grade of marble. The pleasing pattern of grey, brown, and black on white was reflective of Ellana's dalish origins. Solas decried her people's stubborn adherence to their traditions, but he respected their pragmatic knowledge of woodland lore and animal husbandry.

 

Ellana, the last surviving member of Clan Lavellan, was their foremost expert on the Halla.

 

Even Solas bowed to her wisdom.

 

Cole walked the winding halls of the Virvhenas. He wondered if the Dread Wolf would finally follow his advice. Ellana refused to visit New Arlathan. Cole hoped, as he always did, that Solas would overcome his pride. The Eluvian inside the Virvhenas, was the bridge between them, though neither seemed willing to cross it.

 

Cole sighed disappointedly. He walked leisurely through a vaulted archway into his own wing of the estate. The Virvhenas was large and sprawling, covering several acres of arable land. The main house was naturally lavish if simpler in its design than other elven households. Ellana had never cared for the gaudy extravagance of Val Royeaux, with its enormous statues, gilded pillars, and multitude of leonine fountains.

 

She had always appreciated more naturalistic design. Ellana loved twisting vines, unfurling leaves, and flowers in bloom. The woodland in which she lived was more than just her home. It was her sanctuary inside the new world she didn't understand. Cole knew that she could be part of it, if she really wanted, but the issue of contention was always over one individual.

 

“Solas”, breathed Cole. The door to his private quarters was open, a fire already burning in the hearth. The flames flickered from blue to green to red. Magefire, likely lit by the person lounging in his favourite chair. The worn leather, coming apart at the seams, had bits of stuffing leaking from its many nooks and crannies.

 

Solas liked that chair too.

 

“Cole”, greeted Solas. Thick ropes of black hair tumbled over broad shoulders. The tearing of the Veil had ended more than the Age of Sundering. Solas was less sensible. He had ceased to shave his head bare. The glossy locks, darker than a raven's wing, were always worn loose or braided into intricate patterns.

 

Cole liked today's simplicity. Several thinner braids surrounded one thick one that spilled over Solas's collar before disappearing into the chair's padded cushions. Solas had grown his hair long, just like Ellana. The mutual habit both comforted and saddened Cole.

 

They reflected each other's natures more than they knew and could ever truly understand.

 

“You have returned”, declared Solas.

 

Cole watched his head turn. The embroidered collar of his robes slid like silk over a scarred elven cheek. Solas still bore the patchwork of marks cut into his skin like badges of honour. The scars were deep and ugly, marring the marbled perfection of his face. The puckered ridges were considerably darker than the fairness of his complexion. Solas was still handsome though warier of razor-sharp blades.

 

He did not wholly trust the wielders of dual-daggers.

 

“Yes”, confirmed Cole. “I am home”.

 

Companionable silence passed between them. Words were unnecessary to express what they both knew. Cole had returned alone to the Virvhenas. Ellana had refused to enter the Eluvian taking pride of place in the ruins beyond her hut. She remained beneath her woodland trees, singing snatches of old dalish songs, to an appreciative herd of Halla and one stoic elven sentinel.

 

Abelas guarded her in the spring while Cole comforted the broken hearts bleeding inside the walls of New Arlathan.

 

“How is Ellana?” asked Solas. “I hope she is well”.

 

He was eager for news, Cole could tell, but wary of receiving it. Ellana's self-exile into the wilds of Thedas had wounded him deeply. A heart Fen'Harel had. The patience to mend it he did not. Solas was a mage, a revolutionary, and the Dread Wolf, but he was also a man burdened with grief, guilt, and fierce unwavering love.

 

“She smiles, but the light never reaches her eyes”, said Cole. “The grief still runs like a river under her skin. It rolls and washes the bad memories, that catch and claw, over the sand of her will. Grinding, smoothing, and polishing the worst hurts into a pearl of pain. I try to shake them loose, to ease her suffering, but she still clings too tightly”.

 

Cole's mouth turned down unhappily. The misery over his inability to help Ellana, dampened his usually buoyant spirit. He had changed since the tearing of the Veil too. His ability to sense and interpret emotion had trebled. Cole's empathy was as legendary as the endless wellspring of his compassion.

 

Many benefited from his counsel, save two pigheaded elves, with a long-standing grudge between them.

 

“So, she stews still”, remarked Solas. “In her rage and sorrow”.

 

“ _She has reason too_!” roared Cole. “ _You broke her heart_!”

 

The forcefulness of his outrage startled Solas. The Lord of the Virvhenas gaped at Cole incredulously. The way Solas gripped the arms of his chair, till his knuckles were white with the strain, revealed his inner turmoil. Eyes, grey like a stormy sky, watched Cole ever-wary. The spirit's outburst had cracked the wall of Solas's self-control.

 

Something seeped through.

 

Cole sensed a thousand thoughts at once, myriad flashes of pain and memory so old and profound, that he sank like a stone into the sea of Solas's contrition.

 

A calloused hand clutched his ragged vest. Pale fingers curled into claws as he tore at the dry leather. Cole gurgled like a drowning man. He stumbled, knees bending, and feet sliding. He would have fallen if a strong arm hadn't caught him.

 

“ _Cole_!”

 

“Down!” pleaded Cole. “I n-need to sit d-down! Please! The ground is w-wobbly! I can't feel my feet!”

 

He was ushered into the empty chair beside the fire. Solas hovered over him like a worried mother-hen. Cole smiled thinly whilst the dizziness passed. He extended his senses, sending out invisible feelers, to test the strength of Solas's will. He gasped when eyes like storm-clouds turned upon him.

 

Black brows furrowed. Lips split by a single puckered line thinned grimly. Solas was unamused by his probing. He was a private person, concealing his anguish behind a wall, higher, thicker, and stronger than steel. His glower was no less intimidating after five hundred years.

 

“Desist!” commanded Solas. “You cannot help me!”

 

Cole bowed his head ashamedly. “I know”, he replied. “Your hurt is like a turbulent sea, so fierce and wild, that it always overwhelms me”. Cole frowned dejectedly, shoulders slumping. “I sink instead of swim, flailing like a drowning man. I am trapped between the peaks and troughs of waves that taste like salt and sadness”.

 

“ _Cole_!” growled Solas. The disapproval was etched into every line of his fair elven face. The Dread Wolf's ire burned like salt rubbed into a wound. Cole felt the flames licking his heels, ever scorchingly hot, no matter which way he turned. Solas blazed like an inferno, rumbled like thunder, and raged like the frothing sea in a maelstrom.

 

“I'm sorry!” blurted Cole. “I can't help it!”

 

“Try!” demanded Solas.

 

“ _I can_ ' _t_!” cried Cole. His fingers curled into fists. He matched Solas's glare with his own. Iron will against steel. Cole was stubborn too.

 

“I love you!” grumbled Cole. “And I love her! I want to help soothe and salve your suffering, but neither of you will let me!” Cole slammed his fist into the cushioned arm of his chair. He jabbed a finger, trembling with barely restrained fury, at the obstinate Lord of the Virvhenas.

 

“For five hundred years, Solas!” snarled Cole. “The anger, sorrow, shame, and fear have festered like a cankerous sore!” He shook his fist at the source of Ellana's grief. “I cannot soothe what must be lanced! I cannot salve what must burn before being cleansed!”

 

Solas's thunderous expression softened. The regret rolled forth in a deluge, smothering the spitting sparks of his wrath. He answered Cole's accusation, choosing his words carefully. Subtlety was needed now not brashness. Cole had to be gently reminded that he had other more willing charges.

 

“Cole!”, snapped Solas. “I am not a child!”

 

“ _Then stop acting like one_!”

 

Solas snorted. His grey eyes rolled when Cole acted the disapproving parent. Sinewy arms folded across a ragged leather vest. Nimble fingers tucked into the crooks of Cole's elbows. The spirit's sullenly curling lip was hardly reassuring.

 

Cole was worse than Ellana.

 

He always fussed and fumed when Solas refused to be cowed into submission.

 

“I am several thousand years too old to be in swaddling clothes!” barked Solas. “If you think me the delinquent here, you are sorely mistaken in your judgement!”

 

“Age is not a sign of maturity!” countered Cole. “You always use big words to mix me up inside my own head!” He mulishly stomped a shoe-shod foot. “It is not going to work this time, Solas!” insisted Cole. “You will hear me out, whether you want to or not!”

 

Solas arched a thin black brow. He would give Cole his chance. The spirit would be a terror to live with if he dared ignore him. Cole was more persistent than a bad case of nettle-rash. The hives were preferable to spending every moment, waking and sleeping, being glared at as if he were a petulant brat.

 

Seconds passed in a tense and awkward silence.

 

Solas regarded Cole expectantly. “Will you keep me in suspense forever?”

 

Cole gaped at the irritable Lord of the Virvhenas. The simple grey silk and glittering gold embroidery subtly reflected Solas's wealth and status. To some elves he was a sovereign, to others an enemy, but for Cole he was a trusted confidante. It was simply unusual for him to give ground without baring his teeth. Solas did not like being backed into a corner.

 

“R-really?” stammered Cole. His wide eyes and slack jaw revealed his surprise. “But you never just listen!” accused Cole. “You always argue over the littlest things!” He eyed Solas cagily when the elf smiled.

 

“It is called debating, Cole”.

 

“It's annoying!”

 

Solas chuckled. “Would you rather I argued now?”

 

“No!” hissed Cole. “I want you to be polite and listen for a change!”

 

Solas gestured to him amiably. “So enlighten me. What worries you, my friend?”

 

Cole was still watching him warily.

 

Solas's capitulation was unexpected.

 

The appraising look, like a wolf judging a potential threat, made Cole uneasy too. He still took the dangling bait. It was too enticing an opportunity. Solas was willing to listen. Cole was quick to jump in, feet first, uncaring of where he landed.

 

“Ellana's hurt, like yours, is too old and too deep”, explained Cole. “I can't help her, Solas, just like I can't help you”. He sighed wearily. Time should have meant nothing to him, but Cole in loving Ellana and Solas, had learned to count the years. The weight of their combined misery was a hefty burden to bear.

 

“I'm tired of being her rock and yours”, said Cole. “Other souls, breaking, broken, and bleeding, need me more than you do”. Cole interceded before Solas could protest. The Lord of the Virvhenas had few friends. He didn't want to lose another.

 

“I'm not leaving you”, Cole assured him. “We will always be friends, but I want to go where I'm needed”.

 

“You are a Spirit of Compassion”, said Solas. “Your only desire is to do what comes naturally”.

 

“To salve and to soothe. Yes”, agreed Cole.

 

Solas sighed regretfully. The bait was taken. The snare sprung. Cole was trapped, though not in the way Solas had predicted. He had intended to remind the spirit of his place.

 

His own trap, so carefully set, had ensnared him instead.

 

“What would you ask of me?”

 

Cole's smile was warm and bright. “Please talk to Ellana”, he implored. “Not by letter or messenger, but face to face. She needs to move forward with her life. Seeing you is the only way she'll ever willingly confront the past”.

 

Solas stared at Cole. “You want me to talk to her?” he scoffed. He chuckled amusedly, head shaking. He looked at Cole as if he were a foolish child asking for something he shouldn't. “Have you forgotten what she tried to do the last time we conversed?”, taunted Solas.

 

He reached for the collar of his robe, slender fingers catching the scalloped edge. Solas wrenched open the embroidered silk, tearing off several gilded buttons. Gold rained onto the floor. Solas glared at his would-be friend. He lifted his chin, exposing the jagged scar running across his throat.

 

Cole self-consciously bit his lip.

 

“Your precious Ellana”, concluded Solas. “Tried to kill me”.

 

“But you are still alive”, wheedled Cole. “You did survive”.

 

Solas allowed his hand to drop, his elbow straightening, as he primly trailed his scarred fingertips over the bolster of Cole's chair. He loped like a hunting wolf, booted feet padding silently over the thick bear pelt covering the floor. It always made Cole squirm when he deliberately assumed the traits of the fearsome beast he was named for. The Dread Wolf did not make allowances even for his closest comrades.

 

“Ellana hates me”, Solas reminded him.

 

“Not completely”, persisted Cole. “She's still angry, but she cares too”.

 

Solas skirted the chair's edge. His head high. His gaze mercurial. He studied Cole cautiously as if weighing the risk. He could answer the challenge, meet Ellana, and begin a confrontation long in the coming or avoid it entirely.

 

“Does she love me?”, asked Solas.

 

Cole grimaced. “Not exactly”.

 

Solas snorted. “I will not gamble my life on the chance, however unlikely, that Ellana forgets to unsheathe her daggers. She would attack me on sight”. Solas shook his head. “I would be forced to retaliate. Again. The battle would not end as our last did”.

 

Solas sighed morosely.

 

“One of us would die”.

 

Cole nodded sagely. His blue eyes glinted with steely determination. He had learnt a few tricks in the past half-millennium too. Even a stubborn horse, led to water, eventually needed to slake its thirst. Cole sprung a trap of his own.

 

“If you go to her as you are now. Ellana would attack you”, he agreed. “But if you went to her as an elf in wolf's clothing. I'm sure she wouldn't put an arrow through your brain. At least not right away”.

 

“That is hardly reassuring”, quipped Solas.

 

“You owe it to her to try”, asserted Cole. “Of all the elves in Elvhenan. She has suffered the most. You have had your way, Solas. The Veil is gone and your people are restored”.

 

“Ellana”, Cole told him. “Has nothing but her memories”.

 

“I make no promises”, said Solas.

 

Cole frowned when Solas got that mischievous twinkle in his eye. The elf was known for being a troublemaker. The Dread Wolf hadn't run amok in centuries. Cole was quick to remind him that Ellana was not a force to be trifled with. She would not find his tricks amusing, no matter how harmless.

 

“You cannot hunt her Halla!”

 

Solas pouted. “Not even a little?”

 

Cole scowled. “ _Solas_!”

 

“I would not kill them”, assured Solas. “They are sacred to my people”. He paused when Cole glared. “I would only harass the herd”, he reasoned. “Send them galloping in all directions. A little mayhem never hurt anyone, Ellana least of all”.

 

“ _No_!” growled Cole.

 

The Lord of the Virvhenas rolled his eyes. He was exasperated by Cole's lack of enthusiasm. The spirit had entirely too much moral fibre. “You are ruining my fun”, complained Solas. “If I must risk my life on this foolish endeavour. I should have some entertainment at Ellana's expense”.

 

“Making her angry will only encourage her to shoot you full of arrows!”

 

Solas smirked. “I like to live dangerously”.

 

“Promise me!” demanded Cole. “That you won't hunt her Halla!”

 

“I will be an elf in wolf's clothing”, said Solas. “I can only do what a wolf does or risk rousing Ellana's suspicion. You do want her to see me do you not?”

 

Cole groaned. He was caught hook, line, and sinker. There was no wriggling out of this mess. Solas was correct in his assumption. Ellana knew how predators behaved, especially wolves, bears, and dragons. She would see through Solas's deception if he acted contrary to a wolf's lupine nature.

 

“You're horrible!” cried Cole. “Ellana loves animals, but dealing with your mischief might just make her hate wolves!”

 

Solas shrugged nonchalantly. “It was your suggestion. I take no responsibility for the consequences of my actions”. He leaned forward, stooping low. He flicked the tip of Cole's nose.

 

“If it is any consolation”, teased Solas. “Ellana will at the very least, have a dashingly handsome wolf-pelt on her floor”.

 

“ _Solas_!” screeched Cole. “This isn't a joke! Ellana has a gelding iron! If she doesn't skin you alive for annoying the Halla! She could do worse!”

 

“She will have to catch me first”, laughed Solas.

 

Fen'Harel, the trickster, had returned to Elvhenan.

 


End file.
